Heat
by AndAllThatMishigas
Summary: Lucien experiences a traumatic episode and Jean comforts him in the way he needs.


**Heat**

It was a hot afternoon. Unusually hot, actually. Jean and Lucien had remained inside the house, keeping the heat out there where it belonged. Matthew was in Melbourne testifying in a court case all week, so they had the house to themselves, trapped together. They spent most of the day downstairs, where it was slightly cooler, drinking cold drinks and lazily fanning themselves while Lucien caught up on reading medical journals and Jean worked on some of her sewing. The house was quiet with the thickness of the heavy air settling around them.

At last, Jean couldn't take it anymore. The sun was finally starting to set, and she needed to make dinner. "D'you think we could open the windows?" she asked hopefully.

"Might be nice to get a bit of fresh air. But I'm afraid it'll just be too hot," he replied.

Jean suddenly remembered, "There's an old electric fan in the garden shed. We could open the back window and put the fan in front of it so we can get a bit of movement in the air. At least in the kitchen during dinner."

"That," Lucien said, standing up, "is a marvelous idea. I'll go get it."

While Lucien went out to the shed, Jean went to the kitchen to figure out what she could cook that wouldn't increase the heat in the house through excessive use of the stove or oven.

Lucien hadn't been out to the old shed in quite some time. Jean did most of the yard work. He'd help out with the heavy lifting or labor-intensive pruning and such, but Jean took care of the garden all on her own for the most part. But if she said there was a fan stored in the shed, she was probably correct. He yanked on the latch keeping the door closed. It was a bit sticky, though it seemed the hinges worked just fine. The door swung right open, swaying in the hot breeze that had kicked up as the evening fell. In the dim light from the remaining sun, Lucien could see the fan Jean had described in the back corner, behind a pile of spades and garden stakes. He stepped inside to move the equipment out of his way. Just then, a strong wind caught the shed door, slamming it closed behind him.

For a few seconds, there was nothing. Darkness. Hot, sticky air. Lucien was annoyed but thought nothing of it.

But then the walls started to close in. The stale oxygen was sucked from the small space. There was no light. No air. Just heat inside a metal box. Any minute, the hatch would open and a Japanese soldier would haul him out and beat him within an inch of his life before throwing him back in the box. Let death claim him. Anything to escape the unending torture from outside the box and inside his own mind.

Lucien opened his mouth to yell but could make no sound. He stretched his arms out towards where he rationally knew the door was located. He could barely breathe, taking gasps of air with loud, dry sobs. The blood was pounding in his ears. Even though it was pitch dark, Lucien could tell his vision was leaving him. He was going to pass out. He was going to die.

With the last of his waning strength, Lucien threw his entire body at the shed door. His weight was enough to force the latch open. He tumbled onto the hard, dry ground. He was alive. He was home.

 _Jean_. He wasn't sure how or why, but his thoughts were singularly fixated on his wife. He needed her.

Lucien hauled himself up and rushed inside. His feet felt like lead as he stumbled through the garden to the house. He burst in through the back door, searching.

"Oh my god, Lucien!" Jean exclaimed, seeing the desperate, crazed, terrifying look in his eyes.

He gravitated toward her, needing to feel her, to have her close. She stood unmoving as he clutched her arms in his hands and dragged her toward him. At last, it seemed, he could breathe. His racing heart still threatened to pound out of his chest, and his limbs were still vibrating as he held tight to his wife and stared at her.

That was when he actually saw her for the first time. Jean looked at him with a swirl of powerful emotion on her face. Her mouth was open in shock, her eyes were wide with fear, and there was something about her expression that seemed to pity him, almost mockingly so.

Immediately, Lucien let her go. What on earth had he done? How had this happened, here and now? Without a word, he turned and left the room, seeking solace in private silence.

Jean watched him walk away, terrified of what had just happened. His eyes had been wild and unfocused, and his grip was so strong, she was certain she would have bruises from where he'd grabbed her. The only thing she knew was that this wasn't Lucien, her husband. No, this was someone he'd buried deep within himself, perhaps believing that was what was needed. And Jean needed to be with him.

She blinked back to reality and hurried after Lucien. She found him in their bedroom, lying on the floor beside the bed, curled up and trembling.

As gently as she could, Jean knelt down to lie next to him. His eyes were shut tight, but she faced him anyway. She remained close enough to make sure he knew she was there, but kept enough distance to keep from smothering him. Jean knew something was very, very wrong, but she wasn't sure what, or what she could do about it.

"Lucien?" she murmured quietly. "Darling, what can I do?"

"I'm so sorry, Jean," he whispered, his voice rasping out of his mouth. He didn't open his eyes, too ashamed to look at her.

"Sorry for what?" she asked him, gentle and sincere.

"I put my hands on you," he explained with shame.

"It's alright. I quite like when you use your hands," she gently teased, hoping to perhaps ease some of the tension.

His eyes snapped open. "Jean…" he said warningly.

"Please," she begged, "let me help you. I want to help. What do you need?"

He swallowed hard. "You."

A sparkle of recognition entered Jean's eyes. Her lips twitched into the briefest of subtle smiles.

Lucien unclenched his fists from where he kept them close to his chest and reached out a shaky hand to her cheek. She instantly nuzzled into his touch.

And with that simple gesture, the levies of his restraint came crashing down, flooding him with a desperate, gnawing lust. He put his hand at the back of her neck and pulled her into a bruising kiss. She responded in kind, moving her lips and tongue against his, open and freely responding to everything he did.

Jean scooted closer to him where they lay on the floor at the foot of their bed. Lucien stretched his body out from his fetal position and wrapped his leg around hers, tangling her ever closer to him. After a moment, he flipped her on her back rather abruptly and climbed on top of her, moving his rough kisses down her jaw, biting and sucking on her neck as she whimpered and moaned. Jean tangled her fingers through his hair anchoring him to her. She shifted her hips to rub up against the arousal already straining his trousers. Lucien groaned against her skin. He needed her. He needed more.

Lucien pulled himself away from her just enough to get his footing. In a swift motion, he reached his hands under her back and lifted her up, tossing her up on the bed, as though she were no more effort to move than a ragdoll.

Jean watched the wild, lustful look in his eyes. Her heart beat faster in anticipation for him. She sat up and unzipped the back of her skirt. No sooner had she gotten the zip, he pulled at the fabric and practically ripped it off her body. She straightened up where she sat, shifting her posture. Lucien's eyes locked in on the way her blouse lifted up to reveal the top of her stockings, held up by her garter belt and the creamy flesh of her thigh peeking out over it.

He knelt down in front of her and reverently rubbed his hands up one stocking-covered leg before unclipping the garters and yanking the stockings down. The feel of her bare leg beneath his fingers sent an electric jolt through his body. He repeated the same action with her other leg and didn't pause before pulling her knickers off.

Jean watched his hungry, frenzied movements to disrobe her. Her hands were shaking with the passion this man inspired in her heart. She ached to feel him on her, in her, frantic with her desire to please him and ease his suffering. To love him so much and be unable to offer him anything more than her comfort was more than she could bear. She spread her legs, yearning for him.

Lucien buried his face between her thighs. Normally he took much more care and time to tease her and ready her and bring her the full heights of pleasure. But he had no patience for any of that now. His hunger for her won out over any other thought he might have had. He sucked hard on her folds, his teeth grazing her sensitive flesh as his tongue thrust inside her, lapping up her wet arousal.

"God, Lucien!" she screamed, unaccustomed to this animalistic force from him. Everything was staccatoed and abrupt and full of power. He usually would ease her to climax, but this was like being plunged directly into fire. Jean was overcome with violent sensation that threatened to tear her to pieces with the sheer magnitude of her orgasm.

When Lucien had his fill of her taste, he left her body lying limp on the bed. He divested himself of all his clothing; he'd sweated through every layer with the heat of the day, the panic of his episode, and the desire for Jean. He returned to her and ripped the rest of her garments off her body. She'd begun to unbutton her blouse, but now had no strength to continue the task. She barely noticed the air hit her bare skin before Lucien's hot breath descended upon her. His throbbing cock pressed against her thigh as his tongue swirled over her breast. Jean clutched the bedsheets and panted, unable to move or make a single sound.

Lucien seemed to notice she was overcome with stimulation. He licked and nipped his way back up her chest to kiss her messily for a moment. Just as she began to relax into the kiss, he reached between them to lift her legs to the angle he wanted her in and thrust into her, hard and fast.

Jean emitted a deep, guttural moan at the familiar feel of him filling and stretching her. He didn't pause for a second before pounding into her. The force of him, so quickly after her first climax, brought her another almost instantly as he found the spot deep inside her to send her tumbling over the edge. And seemingly not content with her moans of pleasure, Lucian began to stroke her in rhythm with his thrusts and soon had her screaming his name for a third time. He only stopped when he had roared with his own completion and collapsed onto the bed next to her.

They both struggled to catch their breath. The house was silent once again, save for their panting, desperately trying to breathe that hot, heavy air around them.

Eventually, Lucien rolled over on his side to face her, his eyes roving over the evidence of his passion. Her body was covered in red blotches from his lips and teeth and beard. Her skin was pink in the places he'd held her to have his way with her. Despite the heat, he shivered.

Jean regained her consciousness enough to roll over and snuggle in his arms. She hummed happily, kissing his bare chest from where she tucked her head just under his chin.

Lucien couldn't bear her tenderness at a time like this. How could she possibly manage to be within ten feet of him now, after what he'd done? "I'm so sorry," he murmured in a strained voice, shutting his eyes tight to hide from her.

"What are you sorry for now?" she asked, remembering his earlier apology. Jean draped her arm over his waist to bring their bodies closer together.

"I thought I was better. I should be better. There's no reason for this anymore. We're married and we're happy, and you, you're so wonderful. And I'm still as weak and broken and unworthy of you as I've always been. I was so sure you'd changed me and fixed me, but I've failed you, my darling. You don't deserve to be saddled with the likes of me."

Jean didn't have words to express how ludicrous his statements were. "What's brought all this on?" she asked, not even knowing where to start contradicting him.

"I was in the shed and the wind slammed the door closed." Lucien swallowed hard, trying to explain without being transported back to that place and that feeling. "And it was hot and stuffy. Like the…like the box…in the camp."

She instantly understood. Not that she could ever really understand what he had been through and what he dealt with now, so many years later, but she understood what had happened when he went out to the shed. "Like the nightmares. But when you're awake."

"I thought I was past all this," he said sadly. "But now it's even worse. It was one thing to get piss-drunk and pass out at my desk, but to…to take you like I did…"

Jean pushed away from him to look at his face. His eyes were still closed in shame. She took hold of his chin and waited till he opened his eyes to look at her. "Lucien Blake, you believe me right now when I say that you will never be able to take me in any manner I don't want. Not only because I'd never let you, but I know that you would never do anything to hurt me in that way. Granted, this was rather different than usual, but I more than enjoyed myself."

"But I didn't even think to…" he protested weakly.

"I wanted this. I wanted to be able to give you comfort," she insisted. "I am your wife, Lucien, and it is well within my rights to take care of my husband however I see fit. I didn't have to follow you in here of lie on the floor with you or let you kiss me and throw me on the bed. But I did all of those things because I know you needed it. And I want to give you what you need, particularly in a time like this."

Lucien was nearly moved to tears. "I don't deserve you."

She sighed and snuggled back into his embrace. "It has nothing to do with what you deserve. You're a good man, Lucien, and you deserve to be loved. I am the lucky one because I get to love you. Do you have any idea how long I've wanted this? When you were having your nightmares and I would come into your room and wake you up and help you go back to sleep? I wanted more than anything to be able to hold you through the night."

"Impossible," he scoffed quietly. But he allowed his fingers to trail lazy patterns on her bare back.

"For all your brilliance, you can hardly see past the nose on your face. I burned for you, Lucien. For so long. I tried so hard to keep quiet and unattached, but you must have wondered if I loved you. I did, darling. I did, and I do."

"I don't deserve you," he repeated in sheer awe.

Ignoring the stifling summer heat surrounding them, Jean pulled him closer to her and held him as tight as she could. "You do," she whispered.


End file.
